


A Song of Wind and Whispers

by Huntress456



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire, game of thrones
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 11:53:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18716533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Huntress456/pseuds/Huntress456
Summary: Daeron Targaryen has the greatest army the world has ever seen.And that’s what he told his advisors when they suggested not meeting Robb Stark in battle. Against his better judgement, he listened, and now he was locked in an uneasy alliance; soon to be cemented with a marriage.Seeing as both true born sisters were hostage in Kings Landing, and same sex marriage was frowned upon in Westeros, the only option was to either marry some lower lords’ daughter…or the King in the Norths bastard sister.Joanna Snow didn’t survive treason.But she would be damned if she didn’t survive the Others.She had too.For her brothers, both by blood and by choice, and for her son.But the Nights Watch needed weapons not made out of rusted iron. And the only way to get more weapons short of begging, was by asking her brother the King.Or by becoming a Queen.Joanna Snow and Daeron Targaryen may not agree on most things, but she would make sure that he knew what was coming.Even if it killed her.





	1. Daeron

Daeron Targaryen thought he knew what to expect when he met the King in the North, the Young Wolf. Robb Stark, so far, had exceeded none of his expectations.  


And his expectations were low.  


Tyrion, Claw of the King, waited beside him, his fingers twitching every so often. His eyes darted towards his left, where a flask of wine sat, waiting for someone to drink it.  


But his Claw would not move, not until Daeron did.  


And Daeron wouldn’t move until Robb Stark did. Currently, the Young Wolf was somewhere not in the tent where they agreed to meet, to discuss there next course of action.  


A power move, according to Tyrion.  


A bad one, according to Daeron.  


Varys entered the tent, face powered and bringing the scent of perfumes and roses. His clothing was charcoal grey, red hinting at the sleeves and stitching. Around his neck spiraled a three headed dragon, embroidered with silver and red thread.  


Snow swirled behind him, disappearing into an inky darkness.  


The Dothraki were not used to this weather, but they were stay. Both his dragons and his Unsullied would make sure of that.  


Varys gave a small nod, skin shining in the bright interior of the tent. Snow melted on his head and left small wet patches that dripped down to his neckline.  


Daeron gave a stiff nod back, standing up straighter and turning to the brazier, staring into the fire. At that moment he felt like a Priest of the Lord of Light. Then he reached and 

grasped the edge, and the feeling stopped.  


It burned, but it was a good feeling.  


It was the burn you feel in your thighs riding a horse that was too wild and too adventuress and impossible to predict.  


It was the burn of his dragons, when they screamed and spat fire at his enemies.  


Fire burned, and he liked it.  


He heard the crunching of snow beneath large boots and waited until he heard the fabric rustle before he half turned, making sure that the two guards who entered first saw his hand touching the metal.  


One guard stumbled, weather roughened face paling in shock and mouth agape. He righted himself and carryed on. The other paled but tried to pretend he didn’t see, but Daeron watched his eyes dart towards his-should-be-burnt hand repeatedly.  


He took his hand off after the Lord who followed him caught a glimpse, just enough to think it was a trick of the mind.  


He turned fully towards the Northern Lords and Ladies entering, before, finally, the Young Wolf followed him, arm in arm with his mother, and his direwolf trotting in close behind him.  


Now that animal is what truly interested Daeron.  


He had seen many a wonderful thing, and he was the father to three dragons, but it was the direwolf, large, so large that his head was on level with his master’s.  


Almost like the animal could sense his gaze, he turned his smoke grey head and stared at him with yellow eyes.  


Daeron felt a chill down his spine but refused to lean closer to the brazier behind him. He rode a dragon. A wolf, no matter the size, would not frighten him.  


He was sure of it.  


As the wolf continued to stare at him, he wasn’t so certain.  


But he ignored his feelings and turned towards the Northern Lords.  


Before the King in the North could open his mouth to apologies for being late, Daeron opened his.  


“Forgive me, my Lords,” he said. “I had not realized the times had changed. I did not mean to be so early.”  


The Young Wolf did a good job keeping his expression stoic, but his mother flinched. Barely a squinting of the eyes, but Daeron saw.  


“There is nothing to forgive,” replied Robb Stark. “We lost track of time.”  


A diplomatic answer, but weak, Daeron thought. But from the looks of his Lords, they didn’t seem to notice. But his did.  


It was silent for a moment, before Tyrion stepped forward. “My Lords, your Grace. Allow me to introduce Daeron Stormborn of House Targaryen, the Third of His Name, Rightful King of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the Father of Dragons, the Khal of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains.”  


None of the Lords and Ladies even blinked at the many names Tyrion had spent hours practicing as to remember and not butcher.  


Daeron had expected at least a twitch or shuffle. The only one to show any emotion what so ever was the Kings mother, who looked almost…smug?  


When no one so much as sniffed, Tyrion continued. “Missandei of Narth, the Kings most trusted advisor, Greyworm, Commander of the Unsullied, an-”  


“ _Greyworm _?” spat one of the Lords, his accent thick and face red. “ _What kind of name is that? _”____  


Daeron was about to answer when Greyworm stepped forward.  


In his broken common, each word pronounced slowly and carefully, to make sure that everyone in the room heard him, he said, “Greyworm is the name the masters give this one. It was meant to degrade, to make us less than human. To make us Unsullied. But Greyworm is the name this one had when Daeron Targaryen killed the masters and freed us. Greyworm is worn with pride, the name of a free man who chose it, instead of having it forced upon him.”  


Greyworm stepped back, hands clasped behind him. Missandei sent him a warm look, and Daeron had to hide his smile.  


Daeron turned to the Northern Lords and was pleased to see an almost abashed expression on his face.  


When it appeared as though there were going to be no more intrusions, Tyrion continued. “And finally, Lord Varys,” he finished lamely. Master of Whispers he left unsaid, but finally as people shuffled awkwardly, Daeron was certain they knew it.  


Robb nodded once, pleased and sending a small smiling at each person introduced. Either he was stupid or friendly or wanting to make their relationship amicable for the immediate future.  


Daeron decided to follow his example.  


He may have been a Conqueror but ruling in Westeros he had no experience.  


A man to the Kings right stepped forward. He was dressed in a tunic covered in scales, and an old face, weary, but strong and proud.  


“I present Robert of House Stark, the Young Wolf, and King in the North. These are the Lords Wyman Manderly, Jason Mallister, Edmure Tully, Roose Bolton, Greatjon Umber, Smalljon Umber, Lady Maege Mormont, Catelyn Stark, mother to the King, and myself, Lord Bryndun Tully, Hand to the King.”  


Daeron nodded to each of the Lord’s and Lady’s introduced, his smile barely a tilting of the lips, but a smile none the less.  


“Well met my Lords, your Grace,” he said.  


“Shall we, your Grace?” replied Robb.  


Daeron nodded as the negotiations and planning went forward.  


By the time the sun was glinting over the horizon, sky brightly coloured when he stepped out, his head was pounding, and he sorely ached for a drink.  


When he reached his encampment, he stormed into his tent and collapsed into a chair, Tyrion, Missandei, Greyworm, and Varys following him.  


As he drank, he thought back on the night long talk.  


_The north remains free from Westeros. We already have a King, a northern king. We don’t need another _, one of the Lords had demanded immediately.__  


_Done _, Daeron had replied without hesitation. _King of the Six Kingdoms doesn’t have the same ring, but it is still a formidable title _. The Lords had smiled at the joke, and a few had stifled laughs. One had downright laughed.____  


Lord Manderly was huge, but his eyes were cunning. Daeron had thought of Varys when he looked at Manderly, fat and unassuming, but smart.  


Smarter than most men.  


That was good.  


While the King in the North was young, so was Daeron. And young people were too often caught in their egos, unaware of treachery hiding behind kind smiles. They needed dumb people around them to make them seem smarter, and smarter people around them to make them seem brilliant.  


Against his better judgement, Daeron liked Robb Stark. He was a young King, in the beginning of his rein, and he didn't want the Wolf King to fail in his endeavours. The Dragon King could relate.  


“Tell me of Joanna Snow,” he asked abruptly. Someone came though and opened the cloth over the doorway, letting the crisp air in and cleansing the tent of the musty smoky smell it had developed.  


Daeron threw more wood into each of the braziers as no one answered. It was only when he sat back down that he asked again. “Joanna Snow, Tyrion? Lord Varys? Tell me of my betrothed.” The words left a sour note on his tongue.  


They had decided, to ensure long lasting unity among the now separate North and the other six kingdoms was one made of marriage, and with both true born sisters captives is Kings Landing, that left either a daughter of a lesser House…or Joanna Snow, the bastard daughter of Ned Stark, and half-sister to the King in the North.  


And with no sight of the end of the War, the alliance was to be cemented as soon as possible. On the morrow, the entirety of the Northern Coalition would pack up and go further 

North than they already were.  


Daeron’s Dothraki that he brought with him would go back to Dragonstone, as would the Unsullied, bringing only a select few with him to the Wall.  


“Tell me,” he asked again.  


“I’ve only met her once, your Grace. But I liked her…I considered us friends for the short time we were together,” began Tyrion.  


“Yes, yes,” Daeron waved a hand distractedly. Overhead him, a dragon roared. “You were friends, tell me of her _character _. Is she stupid, smart, an excellent warrior or is she a reader? Tell me about _her _.”____  


“Last time we spoke, she was a child of twelve. It’s been five years, so she may have changed drastically. But she was honourable, as honourable as her father, but smart, unlike her father.” Daeron didn’t bother laughing. “She was well read and stuck up for people she perceived to be getting treated badly. Joanna Snow was a child when I saw her, but she had a good character. I may be malformed, but my judgement and mind are impeccable.” Tyrion fell into a chair when he finished speaking, chugging a chalice of wine before leaning his head back and closing his eyes.  


Daeron nodded once, slowly. And then again, sharper. “Varys? Any information?”  


Varys was slow to answer, and Daeron was disappointed when he did. “Ned Stark went south without a child, the honourable man just married, angry with his King for killing two innocent children, and came back with his sisters’ body, and a babe. King Robert – no your Grace, if we do not accept the past, we cannot learn from it. King Robert and Ned Stark bonded over their shared grief, but not even the man he considered a brother could pry the knowledge of Joanna Snow from his mind. There was little to know about Joanna Snow as a babe, and little to know now. All that is known is that letters from the Nights Watch were signed with Lord Commander Joanna Snow, and are now signed with Lord Commander Ed Tollett. She is alive, only because she sent a letter to Robb congratulating him on his wife and child, and not another word in a year.”  


Daeron was disappointed and dismissed his advisors. Missandei stayed and helped him replace his spoiled garments with fresh ones.  


Outside he could hear commands being shouted to take down the tents and prepare for travel.  


But he ignored all the noise as he sunk down in the bath Missandei had asked for, before they had even started talking. The water was near boiling as Missandei pored oils into the water.  


She took down his braids, the silver gold hairs falling to the ground as he tipped his head back. She rubbed oils into the strands and brushed until the locks shone like silk in the firelight.  


Daeron sighed as she massaged his head.  


“What do you think, Missandei? Of my betrothed?” Daeron asked on a sigh, slipping further into the slowly cooling water.  


The fingers in his hair paused for a moment, before they continued rubbing the silken locks with rosewater and cinnamon.  


“I haven’t met her, your Grace.”  


“Neither have I, but I am still going to marry her.”  


“I didn’t like Tyrion at first, but I consider him a friend now. And what he says is true. He does have impeccable taste when it comes to the people he chooses to become allies with, and he knows how to negotiate with the people he doesn’t choose. He agreed to this betrothal quickly. That either means he’s a fool…or he does think she is the right person for this.” Missandei finished softly, and Daeron dismissed her, thanking her for her advice and ordering her to find some sleep.  


She opened the cloth blocking out the brisk air, closed them, made her way to the spare in the corner of his large tent, and fell into it. He could barely see her in the pile of furs she had covering her.  


Almost as soon as she collapsed, quiet snores echoed out from her bed, and Daeron smiled.  


His shoulders relaxed in the hot water, and only when it cooled completely, did he climb out.  


His hair stuck to his damp back.  


Stopping for a moment in front of the hot brazier, he dried quickly, before collapsing onto his large bed, the wooden frame a dark wood and the mattress filled with feathers.  


When he awoke, rested and awake, the sun glinted with a fresh new sky. He had slept all through the day and through the night.  


He was annoyed, but he couldn’t bring himself to worry. He was sure the Northern Lords thought he was a lazy slob, but he simply trusted his advisors enough that they knew what to do.  


He looked at the few tents left, people already waking and packing up the sleeping tents, readying for the ride.  


The King decided to ready himself as well.  


Missandei was missing, but that was no matter, Daeron could dress himself.  


Daeron knelt by his trunk and pulled out a fresh set of clothes. They were dark grey, the pants long and lined with thick wool. He pulled on an undershirt, the colour a dull white. 

Over top he tugged on a tight tunic, buckled down the front with silver dragon pins. The neckline was high, and the sleeves tight down to his wrists.  


None of his undertunic showed, and he was glad.  


His cloak was black, crisscrossed with red thread making a diamond pattern across the back. The inside was lined with white wood, and along the hemline were flying dragons, done in silver thread.  


He didn’t bother with gloves, instead he had rings on each of his fingers. Gold and silver and copper danced in the firelight when he flicked his fingers.  


Along the outside of one ear, he wrapped gold, so it spiraled down the outside.  


For his hair he simply pulled back two lengths from either side of his head, braided them back to just below his crown and bringing in the rest of his hair, braiding the rest down to 

the bottom. He decorated with silver bells and pushed his hair behind his shoulder.  


It swung and brushed his hips when he walked.  


He stopped to pull on his knee-high boots, the sole thick and heel strong. Underneath he wore thick woolen socks.  


When he went outside, he swung onto his horse, said goodbye to nearly three quarters of the Unsullied and Dothraki he brought with him, and kicked his horse forward.  


Up ahead rode the King in the North, waiting for the Dragon King.  


Together they rode North, to the Wall.  


As the Wall towered in the distance, the North and the Dragon, only a few thousand men each, the others gone to their homes to ready their forces, started towards history.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly don't know why you would make it this far  
> But thanks  
> Peace  
> Also  
> So many times i went to wright braizier (as in bra) and it took ten minutes of googling to find the correct spelling  
> I felt like that worm bandaid tumblr post (ie. its called a clitellum, and its purpose is to store eggs...whoever named it has a horrible kink...okay bye)


	2. Joanna

Joanna Snow had awoken that morning to a raven, and, after reading it, immediately left for Beyond the Wall. She went with Longclaw strapped over her back, and Dark Sister was strapped to her hip. 

She flexed her right hand, the scar tight and aching in the cold air. She was used to the cold; her hand was not. And it never would be.  


The muscles twinged as she stuffed her stiff hand into a glove, the leather dry and cracked from use. She needed to replace them, but to replace them she had to take essential leather from where it was most needed.  


Still free folk were getting covered in thin bands of metal around their abdomens. They needed all the leather they could get to cover the metal, and they most certainly did not have enough.  


She called for her horse when she stormed out to the yard. A steward brought out her snowy white animal, someone almost new that Joanna hadn’t had time to meet, but new enough that they knew what was beyond the Wall.  


Stares dug into her back as she kicked her horse into a canter, through the gate and out into the snow.  


Her horse, Katut, was snowy white and built for the icy climates North of the Wall. His neck was thick and stocky, legs bound with muscle and a barrel chest. Four long and shiny scars twisted on his right shoulder with every move he made.  


They were too small to be made from an animal, and too clean to be by a knife.  


If Joanna held her hand to the scars, four of her fingers would line up perfectly.  


He was the first horse Joanna had ever seen beyond the Wall, and as far as she knew, the only one there was.  


Kat had been a gift, from a Wood-witch, an outcast, in thanks for coming to Hardhome. Joanna had been going to leave him behind, but one look towards the ships and he had dived into the water and swum to them.  


They had to tie ropes around his chest and hip bones to pull him up. He had bruises for weeks, but they were faded now, leaving only long thin patches of hair where the rope had rubbed and pulled against the fine hairs.  


They were small but stood out against the white of his coat.  


She kicked Kat into a trot, before nudging him faster. His gait evened out and Joanna pulled herself up until she was hovering above the saddle, as Kat picked his way over the snow- covered ground like it was smooth and even and packed hard.  


Quickly they reached the forest line, three times as far away as when Joanna had first started the expedition.  


Joanna raised a hand towards the Free Folk and Men of the Nights Watch cutting down trees. Wun Weg Wun Dar Wun pulled up a tree like it was a flower, the roots dangling like claws reaching towards the home it was torn from.  


Wun Wun groaned before letting loose a curse in the Old Tongue. He threw the tree towards the gathering pile life it was a twig and he a child.  


Joanna let loose a ruthful smile but kept Kat on their course. Too soon the sound of axes hitting wood, and trees falling disappeared, and Joanna was left in silence. She spotted a mark in the ground, as familiar to her as her own palm.  


That was when she pulled her bow from her back and pulled an arrow from her thigh.  


She swung a leg over Kat’s head and fell swiftly to the ground, her black cloak brushing over the horse’s white coat before falling towards the ground. It stopped by her knees.  


Her leather-bound feet were soft against the cold, her toes wriggling against the warm wool lining her knee-high boots.  


She scanned the ground, before – there! The large paw print of a shadowcat. It was spotted earlier, dragging away a still screaming Brother.  


Joanna followed the paw prints, the slight indentations getting harder and harder to spot as the trees grew denser and the canopy thicker. Soon Joanna had to squint and bend down close to the ground when the bright white gave way to a darker colour.  


Joanna scooped up a handful and held it above her. It was dark, the rusted colour of old blood. She had seen enough of it in the snow to recognise it. She tossed it away and kept walking.  


The more she travelled the more stooped she became, the bush becoming denser and the trees closer, until she had to move out of the way trees and bush with every step. And still, the land drew closer, the ground turning uneven below the snow.  


The snow itself thinned further and further, until the canopy was so thick that mud replaced the ice.  


Then the tracks stopped, and so did she.  


She twisted, knees bent and up on the balls of her feet, bent forward but shoulders back. Her arms were relaxed where they held the bow, but her biceps were tight against her sleeves. They burned, and try as she might, they wouldn’t relax.  


Creeping forward, she followed the paw prints until they turned towards the base of tree, roots large, erupting out of the ground until Joanna could have crawled below and hidden in the inky darkness.  


On one small root, a tuft of black cloth, the same as what Joanna wore on her back. It was the cloak of a Brother. She just hoped whatever was rustling in there wasn’t.  


She pulled back on her bow.  


Even with the chill in the air, sweat stung her eyes.  


Slowly she back away, thighs bunching. Her toes cramped against the now damp wool. She didn’t know if it was from snow or sweat.  


_Crack _.  
__

__The small sound echoed out, louder than it should have been. The rustling stopped. Joanna sent a glare towards the small twig she had stepped on.  
_ _

__Snarls erupted from the darkness. To late she realized she had pulled out her dragonglass arrow.  
_ _

__Joanna stopped breathing as she stepped back once more, arm pulled back by her ear. The hand gripping the bow squeezed so tight the leather around her knuckles cracked and split. The cold air needled into her exposed skin.  
_ _

__Eyes glinted in the darkness. Growls, growing in power as Joanna stopped moving backwards, pulling the string back further and further.  
_ _

__The leather of her gloves split more, until she could see her knuckles standing out white against her already pale skin.  
_ _

__The growls stopped and pads hit the muddy ground, just as the shadowcat surged outwards and towards Joanna.  
_ _

__With a breath she let got of the arrow and it flew, straight and true.  
_ _

__The shadowcat fell to the ground, dead and still. The feather on the end of the arrow brushed her shoes. Joanna slung the bow over her back and knelt by the dead creature. She pulled out her only dragon glass arrow and threw it to the ground, the head sticky with blood.  
_ _

__She could count its ribs with a single look. Its fur was loose, but thick and shiny. Skinny but not yet malnourished. Good, they needed more meat. Now Joanna could get new clothes, and a new cloak.  
_ _

__The one she wore now had more stiches than her own wounds. Her cloak was a mosaic of black and brown and red and white, the threads crisscrossing back and forth across the cloth.  
_ _

__Grabbing the rope, she had tied to the back of her trousers, she tied the rough hair around its two hind legs, before turning and tugging the rope over her right shoulder. With a grunt she pulled the rope until the shadowcat lifted off the ground and sat heavy against her back.  
_ _

__It was light, far lighter than it should have been. But Joanna didn’t mind. If it were any heavier, she didn’t know if she could make it back to Kat.  
_ _

__Grunting, she wrapped the rough rope around her hand and wrist, using her other hand to pull the rope further across her chest, until it was just under her bust.  
_ _

__It sat in a triangle, going from her right shoulder down to below her left breast, wrapping around her left wrist before cutting across to her right hand, held down by her hip.  
_ _

__The leather of her gloves was shredded against the rope.  
_ _

__The walk back went far quicker than the walk towards the shadowcat lair. When she reached Kat, she dumped the shadowcat over his rump, tying the dead animal down and around his hips, leaving the saddle free.  
_ _

__Before swinging onto the saddle, she counted her arrows. She was missing one, her arrow with the dragonglass head gone…left behind at the shadowcats den. Seven hells.  
_ _

__That arrow was the single one she couldn’t risk losing. She had broken a very useful dragonglass dagger to make a set of arrows, and she only had two left.  
_ _

__Half the shards were wasted, when the blacksmith was learning to carve and use the material. The smaller the piece, the harder to handle, and more susceptible to shattering.  
_ _

__That left only six arrow heads.  
_ _

__Three were shot at a wight, two were left in its body. The one she tried to remove, shattered when she tugged it out.  
_ _

__One she practiced shooting with, straight at the Wall. It went so far in; she could only just touch the feather as it stuck out from the ice. It was still there. Often, she would see new recruits rubbing it for luck.  
_ _

__Another was left in her room, at Castle Black. It sat on her right, sticking into the wood. She leaned her horn against it when she wasn’t finished drinking.  
_ _

__The last she carried with her. If there was a single wight, shoot it. Anymore than that, run. That was the only way to survive. To remember her own rule, she carried the single dragonglass arrow.  
_ _

__The same one she left back the den.  
_ _

__Sighing, she pulled Kat along until the bush became too dense for the horse to follow. Joanna left her there with the shadowcat sitting on her back. Blood dripped steadily down on his hind leg, falling to the muddy snow.  
_ _

__The hair on the back of her head prickled, and Joanna took a moment to look around her. The trees pressed closer than they had before, but she needed that arrow.  
_ _

__She didn’t ignore the hairs on her neck rising, but she did press on, her hand clutching the handle of Dark Sister.  
_ _

__The ruined leather of her glove rubbed at her scarred palm.  
_ _

__When she reached the den, she knelt by the arrow, wiping the blood off on the leather of her boot, before shoving it into her thigh holder.  
_ _

__She moved to straighten – and froze when the smallest sound of whimpers and sniffling reached her ears…coming straight from the shadowcat den.  
_ _

__She tried to ignore it – the tiny sound of a babe, hungry and searching for its mother. But try as she might, each time she went to turn back she thought of Ghost, hunting somewhere Beyond the Wall, and if she hadn’t gone to the small rustling, he would be dead.  
_ _

__He was the runt, then he was the largest, and now he was the other half of her soul.  
_ _

__Joanna crawled in between the roots and stuck her head into the gap before she could think about what she was doing.  
_ _

__It was dark, her body blocking out the light. She placed one hand above her, wrapping it around a root and the other she pushed against the soft ground beneath her, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dark.  
_ _

__When they did, everything was cast in grey, especially the tiny bundles of darkness lined with stripes.  
_ _

__At first glance, they looked still and even with the dim light and distance she could tell they were dead. But something had been wriggling moments ago.  
_ _

__Grabbing a handful of the soft dirt beneath her, she tossed a handful over the still bodies…and then the largest one, the one furthest away, wiggled and hissed.  
_ _

__It opened its eyes and stared at Joanna with glowing yellow eyes. They were pleading, and Joanna couldn’t ignore them, not when she had killed the mother.  
_ _

__Joanna tried to grab them, but she too far way.  
_ _

__She reached down, stretching her spine. The arm above her, holding onto the root burned, but she was still not close enough.  
_ _

__Readjusting, she grabbed onto a root, thinner than most but the only one she could wrap her hand around. It was on her right, and her arm was pulled back, almost next to her body as she lay down, almost on her stomach, trying to reach the bundle of warmth wriggling next to its still siblings.  
_ _

___I only need a few more inches _.  
___ _

___The root slipped from its place, it was nearly enough.  
_ _ _

___Sweat stung her eyes, and she blew it away.  
_ _ _

___The root she held onto creaked, but she was nearly… _there _!  
___ _ _

___Her hand curled around the tiny bundle of warmth, ribs standing out in the small body. She sighed and laughed tiredly, pulling the tiny animal closer to her chest, holding it to her body.  
_ _ _

___Joanna squeezed the root tighter and went to pull herself up…but instead something snapped, and she fell forward…and she didn’t stop.  
_ _ _

___She rolled head over heels, until the earth grew flat. Hurriedly she checked the tiny animal, and finding it still wiggling against her chest, nuzzling her warm flesh, happy and content.  
_ _ _

___Joanna sighed happily, but she couldn’t rest for long.  
_ _ _

___Looking behind her, the light coming in from the tunnel she found herself in wasn’t far away, but it was behind a steep climb of soft dirt and a few roots.  
_ _ _

___She twisted, holding herself up with her arms in a plank position before her back pressed against the roots above her. At her feet she felt the ground drop off again, almost straight down.  
_ _ _

___If she tried, she could have squeezed a hand between her and the ground below her stomach, but the tiny animal brushed the ground when her back wasn’t digging into the dirt above her, and if she hurt the animal, the animal could hurt her back.  
_ _ _

___Joanna had to climb out the tunnel without hurting the shadowcat, without slipping backwards further, and as quickly as possible.  
_ _ _

___Her hair had come loose from its tight bun and fell around her eyes, itching her nose.  
_ _ _

___Arms burning from keeping the weight of her chest and the tiny shadowcat hiding there, she started trying to pull herself up.  
_ _ _

___It was a process._ _ _

___First she spun onto her back, braced her feet against the soft dirt below her, knees _digging _into the top of the tunnel. Roots clawed at her, trying to get her to stay. Using both of her hands she reached up as far as she could, grabbing the thick and warm roots, and _pulling _._____ _ _

___They snapped, and the smell of rotting wood assulted her nose._ _ _

___She held her breath, for a moment, trying to hack and cough. Her breathing became shallow as each root she grabbed and pulled againsts snapped._ _ _

___Growling in frustration, she felt tears prick at the corner of her eyes._ _ _

___She dug the heels of her palms into her eyes until she saw stars, before trying once more._ _ _

___Her back, already aching from trying to grab the shadowcat, groaned as she _stretched _as far as she could go, before... _finally _! She got a root that was thick and cold and _sturdy _,_______ _ _

___Joanna _pulled _herself as far as she could go, feet scrambling against the soft dirt below her.___ _ _

___Her biceps strained against the arms of her jacket._ _ _

___She stopped, panting, arms quivering, and the little mass on her chest wriggled, kneading her skin with its paws._ _ _

___That was when she heard it._ _ _

___Deep down below her, was the sound of bones grinding against bones, and the _sound _of groaning and hungry almost-screams.___ _ _

___It was the sound of a wight._ _ _

___Joanna sobbed between her teeth, sucking in a sharp breath before trying again._ _ _

___The sound grew closer as she did._ _ _

___Lungs frozen she waited until she didn't hear a thing before continuing. But it came again…and again…and _again _. Each time a little bit closer and a little louder.  
___ _ _

___Joanna barely held back her whimper. The shadowcat had stopped moving altogether, knowing whatever was behind them, was far worse than anything in front.  
_ _ _

___Rustling came from behind her, and the groaning was closer.  
_ _ _

___Joanna reached up and gave a tug, pulling herself up a few more inches.  
_ _ _

___Only half way to go.  
_ _ _

___The few feet she had to go seemed impossible, as the groaning behind her turned deeper and darker. The creaking of old bones starting come quicker and the noise behind grew closer…closer… _closer _.  
___ _ _

___Her arms squeezed against the sleeves of her tunic, the seams stretching, as she pulled herself up further.  
_ _ _

___She only had to do it twice more, and she was in the shadowcat den. Her legs burned where they pressed against the soft dirt beneath her, and her spine ached where it pressed into the roots above her.  
_ _ _

___She was panting now, lungs burning. The air tasted of dirt and death.  
_ _ _

___Something deceptively soft caressed her toe before she pulled herself up further. It wrapped itself around her ankle and squeezed.  
_ _ _

___Joanna sobbed through her clenched teeth as she pulled herself up and into the den. But the hand didn’t let go.  
_ _ _

___She quickly pulled herself into the den, squishing tiny rotting bodies with the heels of her palms and knees.  
_ _ _

___The hand clutching her ankle let go, but it was late.  
_ _ _

___She didn’t have time to pull the dragonglass arrow from her thigh holster before it was over her.  
_ _ _

___It was a Brother, she distantly realized, the face half eaten. Its skull shined in the dull light.  
_ _ _

___She let loose a scream as she held it off with arms. She pulled her legs up and kicked it backwards, towards the tunnel she had just come from. It didn’t go down the hole as she hoped, but now Joanna had time to pull out the dragonglass arrow.  
_ _ _

___She grabbed all her arrows and stabbed her Brother through the head when he leapt at her. He collapsed and fell to the side.  
_ _ _

___Joanna ripped out her bundle from his skull, rotting flesh and dried blood sticking to the heads, as she shoved them into her holster.  
_ _ _

___She crawled out of the tunnel and sprinted towards her horse.  
_ _ _

___Katut hadn’t moved when she reached him, still standing stoically still, but he was tense. Joanna sobbed when she swung into her saddle.  
_ _ _

___She hadn’t sat down properly before he was off, straight towards Castle Black.  
_ _ _

___Only one thing had ever frightened her horse that much.  
_ _ _

___Another dead fellow sprang out from behind a tree when she blew the horn once.  
_ _ _

____huuoooOOOOoooo _  
___ _ _

___Three others came up behind her three blew it again. She was flung to the side and nearly off when he turned abruptly to go around a tree.  
_ _ _

___She tried to slip her feet into the stirrups, but she had to let go on the horn to stop them from flapping around.  
_ _ _

____huuoooOOOOoooo _  
___ _ _

___What came next was tall and blue and a blur.  
_ _ _

___She kicked Katut faster.  
_ _ _

____huuoooOOOOoooo _  
___ _ _

___Foam slathered on his side, and she was sure the rope was rubbing him raw. But he only went faster.  
_ _ _

___By the time she made to the tree line everyone was gone. She could see them in the distance, running towards the gate.  
_ _ _

___Kat faltered, only for a moment, but it was enough for Joanna to get flung from the saddle. He kept going, as she lay there in a daze, staring at the sky. The air was forced out of her lungs, but she didn’t mind.  
_ _ _

___She could just lay there, unmoving and still. But the wriggling against her chest got her up and staggering towards the gate. She was going to save the shadowcat.  
_ _ _

___“Katut,” she wheezed out.  
_ _ _

___The sound of running drew closer behind her.  
_ _ _

___Katut thundered to a stop and spun, straight back towards her.  
_ _ _

___She didn’t pretend he had heard her voice; he had heard her mind.  
_ _ _

___But he was too far away.  
_ _ _

___Joanna staggered faster, until she was nearly running, weaving in an uneven stagger.  
_ _ _

___The world spun around her, but she kept moving.  
_ _ _

___Kat was closer, but still not close enough. And then he was.  
_ _ _

___She swung up and into the saddle. Kat’s legs shook but he powered onwards.  
_ _ _

___Joanna looked behind once. The wights were close, but not close enough. They had stopped running, just standing and watching as Joanna rode Katut to safety.  
_ _ _

___Something warm and wet and red dripped down ever her eye, but she didn’t bother wiping it away. The gate closed behind her with a bang.  
_ _ _

___Then the world went dark as Katut came to a stop on the other side of the Wall. She saw Ghost, but he looked like he had rolled in ash, and his eyes were yellow, not red.  
_ _ _

____…Grey Wind… _  
___ _ _

___The name slipped across her mind, but she unable to grasp it as she fell sideways off Katut.  
_ _ _

___She remembered wrapping her body around the small animal against her chest, and warm strong arms catching her before she met the ground, and she remembered hair like silver but then she didn’t remember anything at all._ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> those baby shadowcats are so cute in my imagination, you know, before they got fucking wrecked by starvation  
> at least one baby survived  
> but i need names  
> so far i've got  
> \- Shadow  
> \- Cat  
> \- Ashes  
> \- Halp me  
> \- Miss. Keisha  
> \- Its an Avacado  
> \- Freeshavacado  
> \- Yeet  
> \- This bitch  
> \- Empty  
> \- TickIsBetterThanVine  
> \- HAHAHA SIKE TIck tock can suck my metaphorical phallus  
> \- Vine will live forever

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly don't know why you would make it this far  
> But thanks  
> Peace  
> Also  
> So many times i went to wright braizier (as in bra) and it took ten minutes of googling to find the correct spelling  
> I felt like that worm bandaid tumblr post (ie. its called a clitellum, and its purpose is to store eggs...whoever named it has a horrible kink...okay bye)


End file.
